Behind enemy lines
by N. Kage
Summary: This is about Scout Sergeant Erasmus, who is trapped behind rebel lines. This will detail his first action as a full battlebrother also. Once again, Warhawks stuff.
1. Behind the lines

I claim no ownership to any Games-Workshop stuff here. Enjoy this one. N. Kage.

Crouching, he bolted from the doorway to dive into cover behind a ruined wall. Breathing hard, he looked over the wall and spied the enemy moving up the street towards him. Ducking back down, he pulled a grenade from his belt and pulled the pin, holding the spoon tight though. As the enemy closed, he hurled the grenade into their midst. A dozen voices shouted in alarm, before the explosion drowned out their cries. Bits of viscera and blood rained down for a moment, but stopped just as soon. However, the grenade did not go unnoticed, as he was pulling a bit of intestine off his helmet; a snipers bullet went through his hand. But, he did not scream in pain. Instead, he stood to a half-crouch and dived into a shell crater with half a guardsmen still in it. Peeking over the rim of the crater, he slowly and carefully scanned the shattered skyline of the city. Not a shadow. Sliding back down, he grabbed the torso of the dead guardsmen and pushed it up so the head was above the crater. Another shot rang out, the dead guardsmen head blew off, but he saw where the sniper was. He was two hundred meters south, in the shadow of a ruined manufactorum. Drawing his pistol, he fired off a pair of shots and bolted out, running towards a burned out Chimera ten meters away. As he ran, the sniper fired again, this time the bullet glancing off one of his greaves. The impact caused him to drop, but he rolled into a ditch as another bullet impacted into the ground next to his head. The ditch was half filled with blood and the red made the dark green of his armor seemed darker. Crawling forward through the ditch, wondering if any bullets would find their mark in his body, he got to about where the burned Chimera was before he rose again, blood dripping off his armor and sprinted to get into cover behind the Chimera. Glancing through a hole in the armor, he could no longer see the sniper. Damn that bastard, he thought, the sniper knew to move after shots. Another shot rang out, this one punching a hole in his foot. Gritting his teeth, he bolted towards a shell-pocked apartment, firing bolts randomly to cover his movement.

The door of the apartment was closed, but he shouldered his armored torso through it and crashed through into a crowd of traitors. Snarling, he drew his knife and stabbed into the closed traitor's stomach, the traitor's hot blood making his hand wound burn. He pumped a dozen bolts into the crowd, the mass-reactive bolts blasting huge holes into those hit, the holes revealing blackened hearts and lungs. His pistol then ran empty, the hammer clicking home on an empty chamber. With a shout, he dragged his knife free and slashed it down, splitting a traitor guard's head open, thick blood spurting out, splattering the wall. Then, he slashed across and slit open two throats to the bone, the traitor's heads rolled back. With that, this particular fight ended. Running through the apartment, he reloaded his pistol and sprinted up the stairs, until he reached the upper floor. This floor had had a shell land on it, vaporizing most of the roof and part of one wall. Keeping in the shadows, he crouched and carefully watched for any sign of the sniper, like the glint of a scope, or movement.

For one hour, he remained motionless, waiting for the sniper to show himself. There! A quick, darting shadow, about thirty meters away, then nothing. Another quick moving shadow, this time twenty-five or so meters away, then nothing, a shattered building in his line of sight. Slowly, the sniper was working his towards the apartment, possibly to take up position in the same spot he was in, or if the sniper had seen him, to investigate. As the sniper neared, he readied his bolt pistol, waiting for the sniper to make the last final, fatal sprint to the apartment. There! The sniper was sprinting towards the apartment. The sniper was tall, clad in the dark camouflage of the traitor guard units, a sniper pattern auto-gun grasped in his hands. Calmly, he fired three bolts into the sniper, the bolts exploding in his chest, blowing him wide open, like a surgeon's puppet.

Sighing in resignation, he moved the other side of the apartment, in case another sniper had seen him. He crouched there for several minutes, watching the seething chaos of a city at war, flashes of fire, intermixed with explosions, and bright gouts of flame. For the first time in three days, he thought about why he was there. He was Scout-Sergeant Erasmus Harkon, of the Warhawks Chapter. He normally commanded ten Scout-Brothers, but the traitor guard had counter-attacked and wiped out his squad. To add insult the grievous blow of losing his entire squad, he had been cut off from the rest of the Warhawks forces. Then, a massive artillery bombardment from the Imperial Guard in the area had forced him to flee further into the enemy area. So, for three days, he had been waylaying enemy forces, or setting traps and the like, but his ammunition was running low, and he was no where nearer to the rest of the Chapter now then when he had been separated. To top it off, his com-link was being jammed, so he couldn't even contact his Brothers. But, like any true Space Marine, he was prepared to sell his life as dearly as possible, especially since the noose was tightening around him. Yesterday, four snipers had been sent to kill him, and this one was the last one. On one of their corpses, he had found a mass of papers, but they had been written in the enemies' gibberish of a language. The papers were probably detailing his whereabouts and to kill him on sight.

Shaking off the trance, Erasmus climbed out of the apartment and quickly looted the snipers body. Nothing but auto-gun ammo, food and more papers with more gibberish. Looking at the mans face, Erasmus noticed he was hideous; his face scared hundreds of times in intricate patterns. The scars were old and faded, but still deep. The enemies of the Emperor are many and varied, thought Erasmus, but we still fight them. The light was fading now, but to his auto-senses it was still as clear was day. Before he had been cut off, the Warhawks lines were to the south, so Erasmus set off in that direction, staying out of sight as much as possible. The stamp of booted feet to his left caused him to drop to his stomach behind ruined wall. Peeking through a shell-hole, he observed at least four dozen guardsmen marching in parade formation heading south. The guardsmen were in the uniforms of the Carthion Ninth, the first guard unit on the planet to turn traitor. Erasmus's heart burned with righteous fury as the unit marched by, but he held himself back. There was no point in dying in some futile fight.

Erasmus remained in cover until the traitors marched by, then, he picked himself up and continued on his way, knife sheathed but pistol at the ready. Suddenly, through the smoke to his front, an armor form stepped forward. Cursing, Erasmus silently ducked into cover behind barricade. Glancing over it, he watched as the spike-encrusted Traitor Marine strode through the smoke, his bolter at the ready. Praying to the Emperor that the Marine didn't see him, Erasmus ducked back down. Because he wasn't a full Battle-Brother, he could not take down the Traitor. Glancing back up, he saw the Traitor had been joined by another two, one with a flamer. The head of the one with the flamer blew apart, his brains splattering a dozen meters. The other two spun, but before they could return fire at their unknown enemy, they were struck by a dozen bolts, the mass reactive shells blowing huge holes in their flesh, their blackened blood pooling around their shattered bodies. From the smoke, a dozen Marines stepped into sight, in the green and red armor of the Warhawks, the 1st Company symbol on their shoulders.

Rising to his feet, Erasmus called out, "Brothers, do not shoot!" The Marines spun towards him, bolters at the ready, but they evidently recognized him and did not fire. Running towards them, Erasmus raised his hands and said again, "Do not shoot me, my Brothers." One of the Marines, with a chainsword said, "Are you Scout-Sergeant Erasmus Harkon?" The Marines aim did not falter, for any number of alien or Traitorous things could have taken control of his body. Erasmus nodded, "Yes Brother-Sergeant."

The Sergeant lowered his pistol and said, "Captain Mepesto sent us to find you. He wants to see you."

With trepidation, Erasmus stood at attention in front of Captain Mepesto. The Captain was fully armored, his ancient artificer armor scarred and pitted in a dozen places by the recent fighting. The Captain was standing the lee of his Land Raider Crusader, his Command Squad mounting. "Sergeant Erasmus, I was sorry to hear of the loss of your entire squad. But, as I understand it, you fought on.' Erasmus nodded, but Mepesto seemed not to notice. 'Since that time, you have managed to show your courage countless times over the last several days. For this, I have decided to promote you to a full Battle-Brother. You will have the Black Carapace implanted tomorrow and when you have recovered, you will be gifted with your power armor. Because of the exception leadership you have shown over your career, you will be immediately given Squad Lazagrus. Lazagrus was killed in the bombardment that cut you off from us. That is all." With that, Mepesto turned away and mounted his Land Raider.

An Apothecary walked up to Erasmus and said, "I shall be implanting your Black Carapace. Please follow me."

Two Days later on the Battle Barge _Wraith of the Emperor_…

Erasmus was in deep prayer, his body aching after his surgery. His skin was raw, the skin several shades darker from the Carapace. His power armor was assembled in front of him, and he had been anointing it with oils and holy water for several hours and now was praying to the Spirit of the armor to accept him as its new bearer. It was a solemn ceremony, and even more solemn was the ceremony he was going to conduct on the bolter and chainsword he had been given. When he finished with his prayer, Erasmus slowly and carefully put on his armor, starting with the greaves and working his way to his snarl-nosed helmet. With a hiss, he sealed the helmet. Instantly, his retinal-display came on, every thing working perfectly. Calmly, he moved over to his bolter, which was resting on a nalwood rack. Kneeling in front of the weapon, he slowly and carefully disassembled the bolter, cleaning each and every piece, praying to the Weapon Spirit for acceptance to wield the weapon in battle. Then, he assembled the weapon and slammed home a magazine. With a deft move, he cocked the weapon and walked to the armory to test the bolter and see if the ancient Weapon Spirit had accepted him and would not malfunction. Breathing deeply, he stepped up to the firing line and firing two bolts, the weapons report echoing in the empty space. The Master-Techmarine had cleared the entire armory for this ceremony. The weapon did not jam and Erasmus fired anther five bolts, the shell-casings clattering to the steel floor. Again, Erasmus fired, this time firing the rest of the magazine in one long burst, the tongue of flame a half meter long. Erasmus swapped magazines and repeated the firing ritual. Satisfied, Erasmus walked back to his chamber and began to consecrate the holy chainsword he had been given.


	2. Objective taken

As usual, I claim no ownership to any Games-Workshop stuff. Enjoy! N. Kage

Back on the planet…

Breathing deeply, Erasmus inspected his assembled squad. They had been training together for three days, with Erasmus getting to know each of his Marines and how to develop tactics for their special weapons, Gunner Olas carried a plasma-gun and Gunner Morenas carried a flamer. They were a well-trained unit, and had accepted their new Sergeant with no rancor. They had just finished morning firing rites and were about to rejoin the rest of the Company fighting to reclaim the city. Erasmus could find nothing wrong with the squad, their weapons clean and their spirits high.

They were assembling with several other squads and support tanks for a big push into the rebel lines and Chaplain Kylan was about to begin his pre-battle sermon. Hurriedly, several tech-marines and their attendant servitors were raising the Machine Spirits of the tanks with their fiery chants and smacking the controls with their sacred spanners. Then, everyone fell silent. Kylan strode to the fore of the assembled Marines and raised his Crozius, shouting, "KNEEL!"

With a crash, the seventy power armor knees hit the rockcrete road. Everyone was in silent prayer for a minute. Erasmus was privately praying for guidance from the Emperor to fulfill his new assignment with the same kind of courage and discipline that he had when he was behind the rebel lines.

"With the bolter, purge the Unclean." began Kylan, his booming voice echoing across the Marine lines.

"We will purge!" came the reply from the thirty-five Space Marines assembled.

"With the flamer, burn the heretic." Continued Kylan, Erasmus had only fought along side the Chaplain twice before, and never as a full Battle-Brother.

"We will burn!" came the cry, Erasmus's voice among them.

"We the plasma-gun, kill the traitor." Kylan stated. Erasmus could feel his spirit soaring with righteous sense of duty.

"We will kill!" shouted the Space Marines; their deep voices making the ground shake.

"With the melta-gun, annihilate the daemon." Again came Kylan, who was screwing fresh hydrogen-flasks into his plasma-pistol.

"We will annihilate!" again replied the Marines, who were finishing their own pre-battle checks.

"With the las-cannon, destroy the foul." Kylan prayed again, raising his Crozius to the sky again.

"We will destroy!" the Marines replied the Marines, the tanks were idling now, their drivers heads sticking out above the hatches.

"With the chain-sword, rend the pysker." Kylan finished.

"We will rend!" shouted the Marines, pounding their fists to their chests.

"Attention, Marines. You all know your objectives, so it would be pointless for me to tell you those again. However, I expect you all to fight with courage and honor, as any Space Marine should. I will, as always, be at the fore of the fighting with you. So, begin your attacks."

With that, Erasmus broke into a run, his squad following behind him. His objective was to take the very same building he had been in when he had killed the last sniper. On his left flank was Sergeant Noras, the glow of his plasma-pistol casting strange glows on the hard-bitten Sergeants face. On his right flank were Sergeant Topes and his Veteran Squad, the gold on their shoulder guards glinting in the pre-dawn light. Next to Topes was Honored-Brother Morees, his las-cannons were silent now, but would soon be glowing.

At first, the assault was unnoticed, the rebels eating breakfast or still asleep. But, the rumble of the armor alerted the sentries. Erasmus spotted a rebel's head sticking out over a barricade and he fired several shots at him, the bolts going through the barricade and hurling his body a dozen meters. The incoming fire had intensified, a las-bolt scoring off his chest-plate and burning a furrow in the fresh paint. Next to Erasmus, Gunner Olas fired his plasma-gun, the plasma-cells whining as they recharged. Down range, a half meter section of the barricade disappeared, the four rebels behind it were vaporized, their bodies reduced to a fine ash which scattered into the wind. Dozens of las-bolts were shrieking towards the Marines now, two Brothers going down, but one, Brother Feygor, stood back up, his armor wheezing from a ruptured power-line. Erasmus fired again, blowing two rebels apart, their bodies shredded by a half dozen bolts.

Squad Erasmus was the first to reach the rebel barricades, and Brother Morenas's flamer sending gouts of purifying flame into the rebels. Erasmus had his chainsword out, the teeth singing in the cold morning air. As he vaulted over the barricades, he brought it down into a rebel, his body brutally bisected, the organs at first neatly cut in half, then slipping out into a steaming pile of offal. The fighting was close and brutal, with most of the squad slashing about them with knives, or clubbing the enemy down with bolter stocks. Except for, of course, Brother Morenas, who burned holes in the rebels lines with his flamer. Several of the rebels turned and ran, burning like torches, only to cut down by the bolters of Squad Noras. A giant of a man stood in front of Erasmus, a power fist crudely grafted onto one of his arms. The fist came down, but Erasmus danced back, the fist vaporizing a two foot section of the rockcrete road. Screaming, "Death Comes for You!" Erasmus stabbed his chainsword into the mans stomach. The blade went straight through the mans spine, the teeth chewing a massive rend in him, but he did not fall. The rebel back-handed Erasmus in the face, the power fist crushing part of his helmet and breaking his jaw. Erasmus reeled, his chainsword forgotten in the rebel's stomach. A dozen warning runes were flashing on his display, but his body pumped hormones and pain-killers into his system and counter-acted the pain that would have crippled a normal man. The rebel calmly pulled the chainsword out of his stomach and dropped it to the ground. He had a massive two-foot hole in his stomach and Erasmus could see out the other side. Erasmus dodged another ponderous swing, but the fist vaporized the head of another Space Marine who was already engaged. Cursing, Erasmus drew his bolter and pumped a dozen shells into the rebel's torso, blowing him apart. The rebel's legs and shattered torso stood for a moment then fell to the ground. Shaking his head, Erasmus picked up his chainsword and thrust it into the air. With the lines broken, they could move onto the objective. A white-armor Apothecary was instantly there, punching the reductor through the Marines chest and withdrawing the precious gene-seed there. The Apothecary turned to Erasmus and said, "Brother, do you require aide?" Erasmus shook his head.

Turning back to his squad, now down to eight battered Marines, he said slowly, his broken jaw aching, "Move on to the objective, Brothers." The Marines cheered, and Erasmus joined them as they moved up with the other squads. The squad was loosely grouped, covering every possible angle of attack. His jaw as healing rapidly, but the crushed part of his helmet was causing to set wrong and Erasmus wrenched it off and hooked the battered thing to his belt. Suddenly, the sounds of the raging battle hit him. Gun-fire, screams, battle-cries, explosions, the sweetest music in the entire universe. The shattered house loomed on the horizon, even more battered by the Space Marine attack. Groups of rebels stood in their way, but swift, disciplined bolter fire cut them down, or gouts of flame burned them to ash.

The house, which Erasmus had so easily entered not a week ago, was now a strong-point, with dozens of rebels defending the windows and doors, and several auto-cannons and heavy bolters at various points. His squad dived into cover just as the defenders opened fire, sending plumes of dirt erupting and cutting down two members of Squad Topes. It almost looked like the attacked would halt there, pinned down under fire. Erasmus and his squad were sheltered behind a shattered wall, which was rapidly disintegrating under the intense fire. Brother Olas had his plasma gun propped up in a hole in the wall, and was sending blasts of purifying plasma into the rebel position. Then, Honored-Brother Morees stamped into view, his las-cannons smoking from repeated firings. The flamer mounted in his other arm fired, and the flame lit up the building, sending a dozen or more of the rebels to a flaming grave. Two auto-cannons sent chains of flame stitching across the Dreadnoughts front armor, but the ancient adamantine armor held firm.

Erasmus rose to his feet, brandishing his chainsword and shouted, "Do you want to live forever!" His squad rose, screaming, "Death Comes For you!" and joined Erasmus as he ran toward the building. Erasmus crashed through a wall and into a frantic gun-crew, who were screaming incoherently at him. He swung his chainsword in a huge arc, cutting both the rebels in half, their dark blood splattering over him. Storming through into a hallway, Gunner Morenas sent gouts of flame into the hastily redeploying rebels. Four ran out a door and into the bolters of the now advancing Squad Topes. Erasmus stormed into the hallway, followed by his squad. He kicked in a door and cut down a heavy bolter crew, their blood and guts pooling around their now silent gun. Squad Noras was now moving up, the heavy bolter had pinned them down behind a sewer pipe.

He then led his squad up the same stairs he had taken not a week before and onto the next floor. The rebels were prepared for them this time, and a dozen or more were firing their las-guns into the charging Marines. Behind Erasmus, Gunner Olas was firing his shrieking plasma-gun into the rebels, the plasma-coils glowing red hot. The armor on his hands and arms was blackened and burned. A lucky las-bolt struck the plasma-coils and the gun blew up, the shockwave flattening the rebels and vaporizing the front part of Olas's body. Furious at having lost so many of his squad, Erasmus dived at the reeling rebels, hacking about him with his sword. Blood splattered everywhere, forming a fine sheen over everything with two meters. None of the rebels survived his attack. Standing over the shattered bodies of the rebels, Erasmus wiped their foul blood off his face before it clotted.

"Press on!" shouted Erasmus, his broken jaw forgotten. Shouldering through a wall, Erasmus came upon a group of rebel officers, standing over a chart-desk. Grinning, Erasmus drew his bolter in an instant and opened fire. The officers stood not a chance. The bolts easily penetrated their flak armor and detonated deep in their bodies, leaving them twisted and shattered. Shouldering back through the wall, Erasmus watched as the rest of his squad cleared the rest of the floor, mowing down the rebels in hails of gunfire, or clubbing them down with bolter stocks. "Rally up!' again shouted Erasmus, 'one floor left!" Swiftly, the battered squad stormed up the last flight of stairs, Brother Morenas at the fore, his flamer sending gouts of purifying promethium ahead of them. One the top floor was horror. Two Traitor Marines, their once sacred power armor now twisted and warped with the touch of Chaos. Their bolters roared and Brother Kylos fell, his head blown apart. Screaming, "For the Emperor," Erasmus hurled himself at them, his chainsword disemboweling one, and his sword glancing off the others armor. Cackling, the one that survived punched Erasmus in his unarmored face, breaking his jaw again. Reeling, Erasmus was pulled out of the way by one of his Brothers, then; Morenas immolated the last one, continuing to fire his flamer long after the Traitor had died. Erasmus had to shove Morenas to get him to stop firing. Morenas shrugged.

The rest of the floor was empty, so Erasmus radioed to Kylan that Objective Primus had been taken. The other objectives had been taken, the water plant one kilometer away, and the old Arbite HQ had been reclaimed. "Sergeant Erasmus,' spoke Kylan, 'you must hold your objective while the Imperial Guard move up behind us. Orbital survey indicates a large enemy force is moving to counter-attack. Sergeants Topes and Noras are also aiding you. That is all."

Behind him, Topes and Noras had already assembled to discuss their tactics. "Topes, since your squad has melta-guns, you shall have the third floor." Spoke Noras. Topes nodded. The anti-tank melta-guns would be best at the top floor, where they could fire down. "I shall take the second floor." Said Erasmus, his remaining flamer would be best served there. "That leaves me to take the first floor." Again spoke Noras. His squad had a number of plasma-guns and carried grenades. "Don't forget about Honored-Brother Morees,' chimed in Erasmus, 'he can be deployed on one of the flanks for support." The other Sergeants nodded. Knowing their duty, the Sergeants broke and began to ready themselves for the counter-attack.

Squad Erasmus piled the rebel bodies behind windows and in front of any large shell holes, and carried the heavy bolters to the third floor, where Topes directed his Marines to set them up in a cross fire. On the first floor, Morenas was doing the same, except setting up his plasma-guns in hard points. Outside, Honored-Brother Morees was waiting motionless on the right flank, his las-cannons pointed towards the rebel lines. Within minutes the apartment building was formidably defended. Just as they finished, the attack began.


	3. Objective holding

Hello, and once again, I claim no ownership to any Games-Workshop stuff mentioned here. This continues the epic of Sergeant Erasmus and his squad.

With grim determination, Erasmus watched as the rebel battalions came into view. Hundreds of rebel guardsmen intermixed with a few Leman Russ battle tanks, which were moving slowly in the rubble. But, as Erasmus noticed numerous large shapes behind the masses of guardsmen, he raised a pair of magnoculars and was horrified by what he saw. Two dozen Traitor Marines, supported by what looked like a Defiler or Stalk-tank. Erasmus shook his head, and loaded a fresh magazine into his bolter. Chaplain Kylan ordered them to hold, and hold they shall.

The first wave was in range now, and dozens of las-bolts were impacting everywhere. Erasmus opened fire, the heavy report of his bolter drowning out the pitiful _zipp_ of the las-guns. Several rebels fell, their bodies shredded by the mass-reactive rounds. The rest of the Marines opened fire at his lead, dozens of the heretic rebels died, their blood spraying over the survivors. But, there were so many, so very many, whatever holes were created where quickly filled back up by those behind. One las-bolt came so close to Erasmus he could taste its oxidized wake. A Leman Russ fired, but the massive battle-cannon shell landed short, killing a dizen of rebels, vaporizing their bodies and wounding numerous around them. Honored-Brother Morees fired his las-cannons at one of the Leman Russ's and shrieking las-round blew apart the tank in a massive fireball, sending debris scything through the back ranks. One of the rebels stopped and deploying a heavy stubber and was sending chains of fire into the Marine position, forcing several to take cover. Brother Scamander pulled out a frag grenade and threw it at the rebel. With a dull crump, the grenade exploded, killing the rebel and five of his comrades. The explosion also set of the stubber ammo, the heavy rounds firing off randomly, killing or wounding several rebels. Some rounds hit Marines, but only one fell, the lucky shot blowing his head apart.

The rebel wave was close enough that flamers opened fire, sending gouts of promethium into the rebels. The ones who died quickly were the lucky ones; those merely lit on fire screamed horribly, and ran, only to collapse and die as the flame ate through their muscles and charred them to the bone. Erasmus threw a grenade to clear a nest of the scum that had set up auto-cannons in a nearby building. Bodies tumbled out, shredded. Those wounded screamed and screamed and screamed, their limbs shredded and pulped. The Defiler and the Traitor Marines were closing, but were not a major threat, yet. A Marine from Topes squad fell, his armored body falling from the third floor. Another Marine from Erasmus's squad fell, his body ridded with countless las-bolts.

"Death Comes for You!" shouted Erasmus as the rebels poured into the apartment, their sheer weigh of numbers destroying the Marines barricades. He emptied his bolter into the mass, killing half a dozen before his magazine ran dry and he pulled out his chainsword. Morenas was right next to Erasmus, firing his flamer into the mass of bodies. With their retreat blocked by their comrades, and their advance cut off by the Space Marines, the rebels died in droves. Then, the barricade to Erasmus's flank was destroyed by a krak missile. The rebels trying to storm the room from the front were all dead, and now a flank attack began. Erasmus shoved Morenas aside and began to cleave the rebels down, his sword shuddering and jolting as it hewed through bones and organs. Blood was spraying freely, and the bodies soon piled up, their blood forming in pools. The chainsword was whining, dried blood clotting the gears. But, the rebels kept coming. A large shape suddenly blocked the light. Cackling, a Traitor Marine shoved his way to the front of the fighting, a grinning daemon-sword in one hand. Morenas was at Erasmus's side again, but as he fired, his flamer spurted and died, the canister spent. Cursing, the Marine fell back and began swapping canisters. In the mean time, Erasmus's was on his own.

Erasmus ducked the first swipe of the daemon-sword, and thrust his chainsword at the Traitor, the blade chewing a hole in the ancient power-armor, but not nearly enough to kill the foul bastard. The Traitors reverse stroke caught Erasmus off guard, and cut off his left arm at the elbow. Bellowing in fury, Erasmus thrust his sword savagely but a rebel threw himself in the way and was speared on the sword, a maniacal grin on his face. Erasmus threw the rebel off the sword and hastily blocked a downward chop, deflecting it to the floor. While the Traitor was open for a second, Erasmus spun in and drove his knee into the area his sword had opened. The Traitor reeled and Erasmus saw his chance. Screaming, "For the Emperor!" he cut the Traitors head off with a savage slice.

"Fall back to the Second Floor!" shouted Erasmus into the squad vox. There was no hope fighting on all sides. He could no longer hear Honored-Brother Morees firing and assumed the ancient Dreadnought had been destroyed. Righteous anger griped him, but he still fell back up the stairs, reloading his bolter one-handed. The firing had stopped now, the rebels were falling back, their initial assault blunted. The rebel bodies had completely blocked off the first floor and almost formed a ramp up the second floor. Blood was ankle deep everywhere. At least seven Marines were dead. Erasmus's squad was down to five men. Brother-Sergeant Noras nodded at Erasmus as he reformed his squad at the top of the stairs. He was worried that the Traitor Marines were storming the bottom floor, but he could hear nothing.

"Sergeant Erasmus, you need to see this," called Noras, pointing outside, towards the rebels. Erasmus hurried over. A… man, if the term was applied loosely enough, was striding towards the apartment. He was dressed in loose robes, but as he neared, Erasmus could tell the robes were actually human skin. Abruptly, he stopped, about two-hundred feet out. Then, a low chanting filtered back to Erasmus, and the man was gesturing strange, painful movements.

"Sorcerer!" shouted Erasmus, as he fired a half dozen bolts at the man. Every bolter spoke also, but every single round exploded prematurely. Probably a custom force field, thought Erasmus as he ceased firing. For several long minutes, the sorcerer chanted and made symbols in the air. The tension was palpable. Then, with a sucking sound, a warp hole opened, and with a crack, two dozen daemons exploded into being. Cursing, Erasmus opened fire, cradling his bolter on a barricade. The daemons were foul, fouler than foul, sinuous and lithe, with many malformed breasts, and one arm ending in a gigantic claw. Their musk hit Erasmus like a brick, clouding his senses and dulling his mind. Reciting the Prayer of Deliverance, Erasmus shook his head and began firing again, but was forced to relocate, for the daemons had closed unnaturally fast. The daemons vaulted up the ramps of corpses and set into the Marines. Firing point blank range, Sergeant Noras blew apart three with his plasma pistol until it over heated and blew up in his hand. Before the Sergeant could swing his sword, he was sliced apart by a daemon-claw. Screaming, "For the Emperor," Erasmus dropped his bolter and swung his chainsword in a massive arc, disemboweling a daemon in mid-jump. The daemon disappeared in a burst of strange colored blood. Gunner Morenas was firing his flamer into a group of the daemons feasting on Noras's corpse and lit them up like torches. These burst into flame and also disappeared.

"Rally on me!" shouted Erasmus, for the two battered squads on the second floor had no chance on be themselves. Responding to the command, the Marines fell back to him in a textbook fashion, covering each other. One Marine who did not fall back just stood and stared at the daemons until a Marine from Noras's squad blew his head off with a plasma-gun. Few daemons were left now, and they shrieked and cackled as they slowly faded into nothing, leaving behind no evidence of their attack than the shattered bodies of the brave and noble Marines of the 1st Company.

"Resume firing positions!" shouted Erasmus; he could hear Squad Topes opening fire. Looking back out over the shattered, corpse strewn wasteland, he could see the rebels advancing again, this time lead by droves of mutants. A garbled voice came threw the vox, "This is Captain Joran of the Hexian Fourteen. We are moving up on your right flank. "

Erasmus grinned and said back, "Praise the Emperor, Captain. Beware; there are Traitor Marines out there." The vox was then nothing but static. Hopefully the guardsmen got his message. The Marines were still firing into the attacked rebels and mutants when the guardsmen stormed up the flank. Advancing in leap-frog style tactics, dozens of guard squads and platoons drove the rebels back. The sky was lit up by the hundreds of las-guns firing, and the support tanks of the guard firing their massive battle-cannons. Many guardsmen fell, hewn apart by mutant hands, or shot by rebel guns. But, the guard had numbers and the rebels turned and broke.

Chaplain Kylan slowly inspected the survivors of Objective Alpha. Of the twenty-five Marines that took Objective Alpha, the apartment, fourteen walked out. Of that fourteen, only six were not wounded. Squad Erasmus and Squad Noras were combined because of the heavy casualties each had suffered. Squad Topes had only lost one Marine.

His voice booming, Kylan spoke, "Marines, I am very proud of all of you. You have proven your courage and those who died will sit at the right hand of the Emperor in the next life. Due to your stubborn resistance, the rebels have been broken, and the Imperial Guard is taking back the city rapidly. But, as warriors of the Emperor, our work is never done and once the wounded have been treated, you will be sent to the next war zone. Dismissed."

Erasmus woke from half-sleep quickly, his arms twitching. Smiling, he flexed his new bionic arm, feeling the steel-trap strength there. The arm was perfect, the gears and servos glittering. He had triggered his Sus-an membrane as the Apothecaries and Tech-Marine set to work on the stump of his arm. They had to cut off two inches of flesh and bone that had been corrupted by the daemon-sword. It was two days after the battle. His squad was at full strength again, having been combined with the remnants of Squad Noras. He stood and picked up his freshly repaired helmet, slung his weapons and strode into the labyrinth of corridors that connected the _Wraith of the Emperor_, the 1st Companies Battle Barge. He was going to assemble the squad and begin training with them. If they did not know how the others fought, how could they fight effectively?


End file.
